Make Good Choices

The oldest boy's pretty well settled on the University of Miami. It meets the dual criteria of having a highly ranked physical therapy program and being far away from the rest of the family. He's been offered a nice scholarship too, so I can neither blame him nor complain.

That still leaves the question of how he's going to get there in August. I suggested the family take him down, make a vacation out of it.

"That sounds awful," he said. "Do you know how many miles it is?"

"You'll make us look at buildings!" howled his youngest brother. "You always make us look at buildings!"

"It'll be fun," I said. "We'll go to the beach. See a Marlins game."

"I think it's a great idea," said the middle boy.

"Why?" I asked suspiciously. He hasn't agreed to anything since he became a teenager.

"Because I'll get to stay home alone."

"No you won't," I told him. "We'd all go."

"That's stupid," he said. "I'd just irritate you."

"Good point," I conceded. "But you're not staying home by yourself for ten days."

"Why not? You could just leave me $300 and I'd be fine."

"$300? Where did you come up with that number? Never mind, it doesn't matter. You're not staying home."

A couple of weeks ago I went away for a long weekend with a friend. Coming out of a show, I turned on my cell phone to find a text message from the middle boy.

"Coach says he thinks I broke my hand."

As the Lovely Bride was at work and unreachable, I ended up coordinating a trip to the emergency room from 1,500 miles away. My friend and neighbor E. brought him in, after trying to liven things up by offering to take him to the county hospital downtown instead of the nearby suburban hospital. "Come on," he said when I objected. "There's all kinds of interesting things happening there at 1:30 on a Saturday morning."

"That was an accident," said the middle kid when I finished reminding him.

"First, contrary to your claims, the coach tells me he doesn't think it broke when you got slide tackled. He thinks it broke because you were playing goalie without gloves and you punched the ground when you let one get by."

"That couldn't do it."

"Really? Punching turf laid down on a concrete floor couldn't break your hand? Good to know, Dr. Science."

"I didn't punch it that hard," he muttered.

"Second," I continued, "we have a high deductible insurance plan."

"What does that mean?"

"It means your cast is made out of my money."

"You have lots of money," he said.

"Are you trying to kill me?" I asked. He offered a noncommittal look and shrugged.

"Besides, it doesn't matter. If we go, you go."

"It's going to suck," he said.

"Probably. Most things do. If it does, it'll be good practice for the rest of your life. Besides, it should help you start thinking about where you want to go to college."

"I don't want to go to college."

"Of course not," I said. "It's much easier to wait for money to fall from the sky."

"You always say it's not all about money."

"That's true," I acknowledged. "But it is about choices and you want to have as many as possible. Right now you're making the choice to aggravate me. In a couple of years you might want to make the choice to go to college."

"I won't get as many scholarships as my brother," he said.

"Maybe. If you work as hard in school as he has, you can do just as well."

"I wish I'd been born first. Then I could have set the bar lower."

"Wow," I said. "I've really done a horrible job of raising you, haven't I?"

"Pretty much," he said. "So can I stay home alone?"

"No."

"Then I really don't have choices, do I?"

"You never stop, do you?" I asked him.

"Nope," he said proudly.

"It's going to be a long drive," I said.

"It's your choice," he said.

The Joy Of Children

"I need a loaf of bread," my youngest demanded. "And some butter."

"It's 9:30 on a Wednesday night," I replied. "Go to bed."

"I need them," he repeated. "Jelly too, if we have any."

"Are you on crack?" I asked him.

"See, you don't care how I do in school," he said.

In the old days, I would have poured myself a drink. Now that the cardiologist has tightened the screws, I have to navigate life on my own. It's not pretty.

"What is he talking about?" I asked the Lovely Bride. She shrugged without looking up from her magazine.

"Do you know?" I asked the dog, who responded by gnawing on my hand.

"I need it for class," said the boy.

"What?"

"For class. Tomorrow. I need to bring bread and butter. And maybe jelly, I don't have to bring that, but I can if we have some."

"What the hell kind of class is this?" I asked. "Are they teaching you how to make toast?"

He rolled his eyes. "It's called 'Investigations.'"

"Somebody should investigate what the school's doing with my tax dollars," I said. The Lovely Bride concentrated harder on the magazine. She knows how I get.

"So can I have some bread?" said the boy.

"What if we don't have any?"

"Then you'll have to go to the store."

"It's 9:30 at night! Why didn't you ask before?"

"I just thought of it. I was busy."

"You were watching a basketball game on TV."

"I know. I said I was busy."

"For the love of God," I muttered.

"I thought you didn't believe in God," the middle boy interjected.

"I believe in shutting my piehole if I don't have anything useful to say," I explained. "Maybe you should try that."

"Mom, Dad's being rude again," the middle kid yelled. The Lovely Bride continued to read.

Opening the freezer, I found three-quarters of a loaf. "Will this work?" I asked.

"I guess," said the youngest.

I handed him some butter too. And a jar of preserves.

"This isn't jelly," he said, looking at the preserves.

"Close enough, Julia Child," I said.

"Who's that?" he asked.

"A nice lady who would have baked you into gingerbread."

He curled his lip at me. "Good night, Mom," he said.

"Good night," said the Lovely Bride, looking up and smiling at him.

I Wish I Was This Funny

Songs I Never Hated - Sick Of Winter Edition

The Darndest Things

"He could come to church with us someday," our neighbor said.

We'd somehow gotten on the subject of religion during a break in this weekend's basketball tournament and I'd allowed I wasn't sure my youngest had ever been in a house of worship.

"Thanks, but I doubt that would end well," I told her.

"I'm not sure we're welcome there anyway," she said.

"Why's that?" I asked, always on the lookout for a parent worse than me.

"A few years ago, we thought our oldest should give Sunday school a try. It was around the holidays and the teacher explained the story of baby Jesus and how he died for our sins. Which was fine, except our kid didn't really have much context for the story and he got a little confused about the chronology."

"Oh boy," I said.

"Yeah," she said. "He raised his hand and asked how the Romans could nail a baby to a cross."

"You must be very proud," I said.

"Look who's talking, Mr. Unitarian Unicorn," she said.

"Heathen," I said.

"Infidel," she said.

We laughed.

Don't Know Much About History

"Our family's cursed," said my oldest.

"Tell me about it," I replied. "It's been that way as long as I can remember."

We were in Savannah. It was snowing. Of course it was.

"Why are we here anyway?" my youngest asked.

"Because I enjoy spending time with you?" I guessed.

"Don't be dumb. Why are we really here?"

"Because your brother wanted to look at a college and I thought we could do some sightseeing while we were down South."

"We're looking at buildings. They have buildings where we live."

It was snowing harder and I was getting a headache. "Be quiet," I said, without much hope.

"Why didn't my other brother have to come with us?" he demanded. "You love him more."

"Yes, I love him more. That's why I left him home with your mother."

"You see?" he exclaimed, turning to the oldest, convinced he'd made his point.

The oldest ignored us. He was studying the map we'd picked up at the visitor center, trying to figure out where we were. He knows better than to trust my sense of direction.

The youngest turned back to me. "How much longer are we going to stay here?"

"Forever," I said.

"For real," he said.

"It'll seem like forever," I said.

He scowled at me until I relented. "I don't know, a few hours," I told him. "Then we're going to Charleston."

"What's in Charleston?"

"Buildings."

"AAARGH!" he shrieked.

"I love you too, buddy," I said.

Go Ask Grandma

"I've never smoked marijuana," my mother was telling my kids as I walked into the kitchen.

"Oh God, what now?" I asked.

"I was telling the boys that when one reaches a certain age, one starts to catalogue the things one hasn't done."

"It's called a Bucket List," I said. "There was a movie by that name. I hated it."

"You hate everything," my middle son pointed out.

"With good reason," I replied.

"Don't be ridiculous," said my mother. "You have a wonderful family."

I laughed hollowly. "Yeah, ask the Lovely Bride for her opinion."

"Her perspective might be different," said my mother. "After all, she's married to you."

"Ooh, Dad, sick burn," said my youngest.

I pointed at him. "Lucy, kill," I suggested to our dog. She jumped up and gummed my arm.

"Besides," I asked, turning to my mother, "what does any of this have to do with your history of drug use?"

"I do not have a history of drug use. I was merely explaining that some things I do not regret having missed. Drugs are one of them."

"The first step is admitting you have a problem," I said. "We can't make progress if you continue to deny reality."

"What is he going on about now?" she asked her grandchildren. They offered puzzled shrugs in response.

"Your grandmother used to keep her stash in the oven when I was growing up," I told the boys. "She was the biggest dealer in our city until she went to prison. That's where she got the gang tattoos."

"I do not have any tattoos," she said.

"Sure, not anymore," I said. "Laser removal."

"What sort of fantasy world have you created for yourself?" she asked in exasperation.

"Not a drug-induced one," I said. "Which is more than you can say."

"Well, I think that's enough of you for one day," she said, gathering her things.

"Hugs not drugs," I said, giving her a squeeze as she put on her coat.

"Please try to improve your attitude before I come back next week," she said.

"Hope not dope," I said.